The Cries of Tears

Ah, you guys, I am nearly halfway done with editing. Nearly. Halfway.

While I continue along this journey, I welcome you into it with another excerpt 🙂

Enjoy ❤

If I could, V, I would. I would rewrite the story so none of this pain ever existed, so that none of this time ever passed; but I must tell the truth. I must tell the painful truth of this love. I must give it the witness it deserves; the truth of its story that it craves. I must. I must. As much as it kills me; I must.

Her silent moment does not last very long, as she pulls herself to the present, away from the world where her and E’s love drowns her (ever is she tied to the string of it, but she awakens from the dream of it covering her conscious eyes. It washes away like an ocean as you come up out of it. But no, she can never entirely step out of it), and she watches the road. The fleeting road.

Just like time, it flits and flits away at ever increasing speeds, it seems. It leaves things behind that are beautiful. It leaves things buried in dust and smog, even to be forgotten. It runs and runs and runs and leaves people behind, in its wake. It continues on whether you want it to or not; whether you hate the long drive or not; whether you hate the silence and great, barren length of it, or not.

…Indeed, Time has walked on without V many a great time. Without proper closure of passages or chapters that she’s heavily dog-eared and highlighted and underlined. Even still, she sneaks away from speeding Time to reread those precious chapters. Those precious paragraphs of that tattered book of “Years Ago” and “Love.”

Oh, “Love,” the most read and reread book of all. In V’s library, it is the one that always lays open, or is never fully tucked back into the case to be shrouded by other books. No, it lays open on a podium, with pages fading and crinkling and ripping and tearing; tear-stained and ridden with crumbs in the spine and dust on favorite pages that stay open the longest. But Time walked on without her, and left her behind to peruse these aisles with a lantern. A small lantern of memory and hope and light and “Once upon a time, truth.”

V couldn’t lie, she craved E. She craves her right now, in this moment, and she wished that Elina were E. She wished that this woman who sat next to her were the woman she loved.

She wished it was E, and that they could be driving down this road, at sunset, hands intertwined, or E’s soft and strong hand on her thigh. She wished that she could look over and stare, again, at E’s perfect face. She wished she could go back in time to stare and never ever look away. To memorize that face, to ingrain it into her mind… she had tried to.

She’d keep her eyes closed forever this time, she was sure. But, alas.

At this, V tried to catch a tear, before it fell to her leg. But it left her eye with gusto, with pain, with passion. “This is no light thing” it cried. It did not gently roll down her cheek; no, it made an appearance with purpose, with witness, with vision. It was a tear driven by a whole ocean of intent. It carried the weight of a thousand storms inside of it and behind it. That one tear spoke for them all. That one tear, it was a martyr; a martyr of the pain of an aching love—a shattered love story of truth shrouded from its tincture. A broken, most beautiful thing. And V awoke again from her world, and shook the rest of them away.

But Elina, thankfully did not catch that one tear that dove out of her eye. She did not see it; V glanced at her, but Elina’s eyes were firm on the road. The dark road, which only the portions lit by her beams could be seen.

They did not drive for terribly long, although V’s thoughts stretched out for an eternity, and her and E’s world yo-yoed her. She’d awake from it and drown again. Step out of it, and be pulled back in. Shrouded, and covered, and submerged; and then conscious, and present, and arisen; like a lapping shore, or crashing waves bobbing before her eyes. Lenses shifting. Vision changing. Conscious and unconscious; dreaming and seeing; overtaken, then left thirsty.

But, alas, when Elina reached her little house on much land, V awoke again from her dreams and thoughts, and she saw Elina again, and saw where she was and minutes had passed without her being conscious of them. The road had been no matter, and neither had the travel; she’d been elsewhere the majority of the time. And this last leg, she wasn’t sure how happened.

They got out of the car and V was tired. She wasn’t sure what it was that truly tired her, but her eyelids felt heavy, a little like her heart. Her spirit was drained. But she knew it was because she’d visited a world that requires crossing dimensions and time and years and years. A long journey; a far travel; one that pays no mind to the time of this one; one that is oblivious of any other; one that exists on its own, outside of this one and is most selfish for attention. So worth it; I’d pay the price time and time again. E is all I love; I’ll stay in worlds of her always and forever, if that is what it takes.

“Coming Home,” Kanda Land by Loveless (p. 329-332)

Thank you for reading ☺❤

–A.M.M.